Gentlemen
by Picarats
Summary: It was hardly the time and place to behave like such. PWP, One-shot, Legal/Layton.


"Nn...!"

The boy was on his knees, or at least, was supposed to be, because as soon as Layton pushed in, his entire body was nearly buried into the mattress. He was heavy, he was suffocating him, but even then, with his head spinning like that, Clive felt amazing. Because every sense was overwhelmed with his gasps, his scent, his hands— his _hands—_ _His professor_. The bed creaked lewd and loud in wonderful rhythm with their own animalistic panting: There was no room for self control nor moderation in such an activity, although Layton still showed some signs of restraint.

"Clive, you'll—" He swallowed, and his hands firmly grasped - nearly clawed on - the skin of his hips. "... haah— hurt yourself..."

And he growled in response, annoyed by his attempts at slowing him down. He didn't care about pain nor pleasure; all he wanted was—

"Professor," He stopped, then used one sweaty hand to push him away. "_Please._"

All it took was one swift movement: He turned around and laid on his back, and even before Layton could adjust to their new position, he wrapped his legs around his hips, encouraging the man to enter him again. They shared a moan when he complied, and Clive lazily stretched his body beneath him, smiling in a way that was beyond obscene.

"Don't hold back now, will you?"

Layton felt his lips go dry.

Obscenity, of course, wasn't always a bad thing.

He traced the brunette's jaw with his fingertips and received a smug grin: The boy (or should he say man?) already knew he had him where he wanted. Clive's sensuality, his beauty, was something he had never witnessed before. A combination of both physical appearance and a seductive personality that went beyond the concept of gender: Because Layton seemed to completely forget about this matter when it came to this particular person that was no man nor woman.

He was simply Clive.

"Using such tricks..." The professor sighed, but his smile remained. "Modesty is one of the most important traits of a gentleman, yet it seems you still have some problems dealing with it."

He rolled his eyes.

"Professor, this is hardly the place and time to talk about these things. Look at us." Clive snuck his hands under the man's shirt, tapping his stomach with playful fingers. "We're not exactly gentlemen right now, are we?"

"Well, that's—"

"Quiet."

He kissed him again, this time making sure to shut him up until he forgot about that pointless rant. What a foolish old man, clinging to his nearly ancient costumes, that even in such a situation he couldn't simple _let go_ _of_, _forget_.

And he loved him so.

The thought made him snicker against Layton's lips and then their teeth met, Clive forcing his mouth open to sneak his tongue in. And while Layton didn't consider himself completely inexperienced when it came to such affairs, he couldn't help but feel a bit strange as the younger man nearly violated his mouth, using his tongue to caress and tease and make his mind go blank.

He wondered _who_ deserved the title of professor in that context.

Muscles tensed up around him when he moved, whether it was to accept or reject him, it was uncertain. All he could do was listen to his voice and wonder:

"Touch me more, professor."

Then that commanding voice turned into gasps and sighs, Layton's lips caressing almost _too _lightly his feverish skin. Sweet, sweet torture, that man had some tricks up his sleeve too. His hands traveled down his chest, barely touching him, past his belly and below—

"D-Damn it, I—" He cursed under his breath, his hips bucking up to touch the professor's hand. "_Please, please_."

The man nodded approvingly and soon they were nothing but a mess of limbs and sheets, lips meeting messily, both drunk with each other to the point of desperation. Clive kept muttering orders, to go faster, to touch, to mutter his name, yet his voice was so weak that those commands turned into passionate pleads.

"Clive—!"

"Ah— hah...!"

Clive sighed and offered him an open-mouthed smile, the sensation inside him foreign, fantastic. He was done too, only a few seconds after, victim of Layton's skillful hands that drove him over the edge.

Then, after the afterglow was past them, Layton couldn't help but chuckle.

"Wh- what's so funny?"

"You look quite satisfied."

Clive couldn't deny it: He had, after all, spent the last minutes sprawled on the bed with a silly smile curving his lips and sighing every few seconds.

His cheeks reddened, speechless at first, but quickly recovered his composure:

"Smug, aren't we? I thought modesty was part of being a gentleman."

"But you see." The professor made a pause to cover them both with the bedsheets. "A gentleman also never lies."

"Well, isn't that convenient. But who am I to question the great Professor Layton? I'll let it pass. Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

And with that and a kiss it was all over.

At least until the moon showed its face again.


End file.
